


Soft Light

by lyryk (s_k), marciaelena



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_k/pseuds/lyryk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/marciaelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a very tiny fling for the awesome moderators of SPNSpringFling because we want to thank you for running this lovely fest!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glovered](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glovered/gifts), [oddishly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/gifts).



Sam wakes up to a beam of sunlight on his face. It's gotten through the crack between the thick dark curtains somehow, defying Dean's attempts not to face bright sunshine before he gets two large mugs of strong coffee into his system.

Moving carefully so he doesn't wake his brother, Sam reaches above him and pulls the curtains together, banishing the day (for now) so Dean doesn't wake up grumpy.

"Mmph," Dean grunts sleepily. "Stop movin' around so much."

"Sorry," Sam says with a grin, propping himself up on an elbow to look at Dean. The room's perfect like this, just the right amount of light seeping in from behind the curtains, bathing the room and Dean's gorgeous features in a soft glow. Dean's sleepy eyes are slits of green under half-closed lids, every long eyelash kissed by the soft light.

Sam can't resist. He bends his head and kisses Dean gently on the mouth, cherishing their first touch of the day.

"Mm," Dean says again, his warm hand curling around the back of Sam's neck when Sam tries to pull away. "Stay right there."

"So bossy," Sam teases. Dean is definitely not a morning person, but Sam loves how cuddly he can be when he's half awake like this, grumpiness and all.

"Maybe you should do less talking," Dean says into Sam's mouth, "and more kissing." 

"What, no demands for coffee?" Sam says, lips brushing against Dean's with every syllable. "No shoving me out of bed and calling me names? I'm shocked."

"Don't you think there are way better things you could be doin' with that pretty mouth right now?"

Sam trails his lips over Dean's cheek, the strong line of his jaw, the soft skin of his neck, his collarbone. 

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispers against the shell of Dean's ear before moving lower. He leaves kisses in his wake, each press of lips an unspoken syllable, each light scrape of teeth against Dean's skin an ineffable word. 

Dean is mostly still beneath him, wriggling a little when Sam finds a ticklish spot, tiny half-laughs surprised out of him at every unexpected touch. His hands cup Sam's hips loosely, fingertips moving lightly against Sam's skin as though tracing words there. Sam looks up to check if he's cheating, but he's not; his eyes are still closed. (Not closed tightly as they are when he's hurting; not closed stiffly as they are when he's dead; just closed, lips slightly parted in a combination of arousal and the indulgent smile that he saves just for Sam, just for times like these.)

Later, they'll go downstairs and Dean will make breakfast while Sam lets the dogs out and checks his Google alerts. Maybe they'll find a hunt or two, maybe they won't. Maybe if they're home Dean will get antsy and go out by himself and return too soon smelling of beer and nobody else but himself and press Sam up against the door and their mouths will find each other's again.

"Sammy," Dean says, his fingers trailing up Sam's body to tangle in his hair. "Sammy."

 _I love you_ , Sam thinks, kissing his way back up the long line of Dean's still-sleep-warm body, guided by Dean's hands in his hair. They're simple words, words they've never said aloud to each other. _I love every atom that makes you you._ And now he's back where he belongs, his face fitting perfectly against the curve of Dean's neck, their rings clinking familiarly against each other's as their fingers entwine.


	2. Dean

It feels brand new every time. Sam's body against his, Sam's lips on him. It feels like history. 

Dean rolls his hips in a lazy half circle, baring his neck, and the wet stroke of Sam's tongue draws a sound out of him, makes him wriggle under Sam again. Dean pulls on Sam's hair then, and when he brings their lips together Sam makes him open his mouth wide under his. Their hands are still entwined, Dean's right and Sam's left, palms pressing together as Sam kisses him deeply, rubs all of himself against Dean. Dean spreads his legs, grunts into Sam's mouth and urges him deeper in, wanting Sam's breath, Sam's heat, the weight and ache of Sam's love.

But Sam pulls away instead. He brings Dean's hand to his lips, kisses each of Dean's knuckles, the pads of Dean's fingers. Dean watches him, tenderness mingling with the slow burn of desire. 

"Something goin' on in that big brain of yours?" he asks Sam. There's a hush in the air that makes Dean feel like they're suspended in time. Like this moment is all there is, this bed and this room and him and Sam in it. 

Sam shrugs and smiles at him, the kind of smile that shines in his eyes. The kind of smile that tugs at Dean's heart. "You're pretty much taking all the space in there right now," he says. 

_You're taking all the space in me_ , Dean thinks. He rubs his thumb against Sam's lips, watches Sam lean into his touch when he strokes his stubbled cheek. Something fierce and bright flares up inside him and he wants to give voice to it, wants to breathe the words into Sam (into their next kiss, into all of their kisses), wants to whisper them in Sam's ear, wants to murmur them like a promise over every inch of Sam's skin. But what he feels leaves him breathless and stupid and all he's left with is Sam's name, the only word that Dean can hold on to. 

"Sammy," Dean whispers. His eyes sting with tears as he looks at Sam in the soft light of their bedroom. 

Sam's finally out of words. Their mouths meet in a kiss that's hungry and reverent all at once and Dean welcomes him, eyes sliding shut but everything else breaking open. 

It's sweet, so sweet it hurts. Dean wraps his arms around Sam and keeps him close as they rock together, melting into him. He drags his hands all over Sam, kisses a path from Sam's mouth to his ear. "Gonna finish what you started?" 

The whole-body shudder that runs through Sam makes Dean shudder too. He palms Sam's ass and thrusts up against him, shameless in his need. Sam's forever tying knots inside him that only he can undo. 

So Dean lets him. He lets Sam in (he's already in), begs for more with every move and every moan and Sam gives it to him, Sam takes everything and it _hurts_ , it hurts because it's sweet, because it's his brother in his arms, his brother inside him, the two of them joined in all the ways they were meant to be joined. 

After, when they're both half asleep again Dean will wonder if he's dreaming. He'll wonder if maybe this hasn't happened yet (it feels brand new every time), he'll wonder if it's always happening (it feels like history).

Him and Sam all tangled up in each other. Dean holding his brother in the soft morning light.


End file.
